You are James Holt.
You don't become a cleric with a wave of Grendel's wand, but rather the same person as before, just with the potential to conjure up green sparks of light that breathe life back into the injured.
"Help me, cleric. I'm dying."
You've never had any proper healing experience before to prepare you for this. Putting a band-aid on your brother's knee (what kind of spearman trips over his own spear?) doesn't count. The people who you can't save pester you in your too-vivid dreams, screaming the same words over and over again: "Heal me. Heal me. Heal me." It feels like your brain hasn't rested properly in years. And you were so sure you were going to become a fire and poison mage, just like your mother.
"So, have you decided your future career path?"
What came out of your mouth was definitely not "fire mage please". Your mother tries not to look disappointed, but she's not a very good actor. You've doomed yourself to a life of quietly supporting from the wings while your dragon knight's name is written down in the history books. You'll never be a great hero. Her downcast eyes say it all as she shuffles lifelessly about the house and she looks at your big brother with renewed hope, and he shifts uncomfortably at the attention. Every parent wants their child to save the world, even when the world doesn't need saving. Obviously, you're not going to be that child.
Whatever. A Cleric is everyone's best friend, right? You like being popular; having friends.
Sure, sure, but your friends suck. The people who tend to gravitate towards you are losers who can't afford good potions, not exactly the stuff of legends. You've decided that that's your new goal. It's a great goal, you decide, and you think you have a rough idea as to how you're going to reach it. You don't want any old run-of-the-mill dragon knight. You want a legend.
"What are you going to do with your life? I've seen tons of clerics in my guild reach the class of Priest, just to give up and stop advancing. They have no purpose, just heal, heal, heal," the man snorts, shaking his head in disgust. "I don't want another heal machine," the junior master of the Healer's guild squints at you, trying to gauge your worth.
You don't appear to be worth much, in your slightly tattered robes and your battered staff (held together purely with hopes and dreams). His expression turns disdainful. You smile.
"I'm going to become a priest," you say calmly, clearly. You won't let the man intimidate you. If you can't stand up to a fellow healer then how will you cope with the stubborn dragon knights, that class who is famous for ignoring the words of their priests? "Then I'll be the priest of a dragon knight." You smile faintly. "One that's going to save the world."
The junior master raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Save the world?" he asks, his tone slightly mocking. He just makes you more convinced that this is indeed what you want to do. Who is he to judge? You want to bristle and snap at him because this is something personal, not something for strangers to talk about in such a derisive tone. You don't allow these feelings to overcome you by employing a calming breathing pattern.
"Yes," you manage to reply serenely, and he smiles faintly at you.
"That can be arranged. I guess." He offers a hand to you, and his features soften with his smile. He seems kinder, gentler, more like the priest he is meant to be. "I apologise for being so brusque. I tried to imitate the behaviour of an attacker," he explains, sounding embarrassed. He's a typical healer, you realise. There are only supporters and attackers in his world. Clerics and everyone else. You realise that his previous behaviour isn't that far off from an average dragon knight's. People who kill have that different mentality. More aggressive, even outside of the battlefield and more grim somehow.
"Thank you," you say to him sincerely and he waves it off with yet another sunny smile. All traces of his previous facade are gone to be replaced with a temperate disposition, one that you can only hope to acquire.
"Welcome to the Healer's guild."
James Holt smiles apologetically at the junior master, shaking his head.
"I don't think that-"
"That he's the right one?" the junior master interrupts, rolling his eyes in that exasperated manner. James frowns, his lips thinning into a tight line. "You sound like a girl looking for Mr. Right."
"Yes. Please don't interrupt me," James admonishes lightly. He hates being interrupted by people. It just showed that they didn't quite grasp the concept of conversation, and it was simply uneccessary. "I know I've probably set a new record, but this dragon knight really isn't the right person for me."
The junior master apologises, just remembering that this is the James Holt that he is talking to. That difficult priest that just refused to be matched to any dragon knight. It was absolutely impossible according to some junior masters. The junior master sighs internally to himself- sometimes pairing a healer to an attacker reminded him of the work of cupids. James Holt is a difficult customer, so... why not? Heck, he has nothing to lose. The junior master smiles to himself wickedly, the evil expression odd on the healer's kind and honest face. He grabs a file and presents it to Holt happily.
"Try this one. I've got a feeling that you two might get along like a house on fire," the junior master winks. The wink flies right over James' head, and he doesn't doubt the healer's intention whatsoever.
"That sounds destructive," James comments with a wry smile as he flips through the file. "Alex Campbell."
"The Campbells have a long tradition of supplying top-quality dragon-knights," the junior master supplies helpfully, "including quite a few legends. If you're looking for a legend, you might have a chance with this family. But," the junior master adds in a theatrical whisper, "Alex Campbell has been through more priests than you've been through dragon knights. He's a bit... demanding."
James Holt raises an eyebrow as he studies a particular name. "That's quite an understatement. Alice Liston fired him as her dragon knight, and she's the most patient person I know. He must be outrageously demanding," he concludes.
"Reminds me of someone I know," the junior master mutters with a smile as James stalks out of the guild hall. Yes, he has a great feeling about this match. He leans over to a particularly pretty junior master and winks at her. She winks right back and in seconds there is so much winking going on that both junior masters look as if they have especially serious eye disorders.
"Guess what?"
"We're all getting the day off?" the girl asks hopefully with a grin, and the junior master shakes his head.
"Even better. I just sent James Holt off with Alex Campbell's file. How 'bout that?"
"Oh my god, you are a genius. The world's most annoying dragon knight paired up with the world's most demanding priest! I cannot wait to see how this is going to end."
"I hate you," Alex Campbell concludes as he prods his sorry-looking dinner with his fork. "You can't even cook proper food. You suck."
James Holt simply smiles to himself as he continues to eat his meal. Every healer that has ever passed through the guild halls of the Healer's guild has learnt to cook, and cook well. James can name all of the ingredients used to construct Campbell's meal and how every single one of them could benefit him, but he chooses not to. James does know that he didn't have to arrange Campbell's food to resemble a particularly disgusting-looking waste product, but the reason was simple: James disliked Campbell.
"I can cook proper food," James replies calmly. "You just don't know how to appreciate it." You fat tub of lard, he wants to add, but he refrains in an admirable show of restraint. Before James, Campbell was living off potions. Namely, ice-cream pops. And hotdogs. Disgusting, James can't help thinking as all of the amounts of sugar and fat starts to add up in his head.
"I can appreciate food," Campbell shoots back, "but not this pile of shit." He stabs moodily at the food before dropping the fork disgustedly to the table and grabbing his spear. "Forget it," he announces in a curt voice, "I'm not going to argue with you. I'm going to train."
James' lips quirk up into a superior smile. "At night? El Nath isn't forgiving to travellers in day, let alone at night." You dumbass.
"Whatever. You don't have to come."
James rolls his eyes- why did Campbell have to be so profoundly annoying? He'd end up regretting this. "I'm your priest," James reminds him in a matter-of-fact tone. "Where you go, I go."
"How sweet," Campbell says sarcastically. He's never in the best of moods when he's training on an empty stomach, especially when Holt is acting up and cooking disgusting crap that he calls 'food'. Alex trudges out into the snow, his snow shoes earning the money he paid for them as he walks effortlessly through the slippery ice. He can sense Holt moving quickly after him, but he's in no mood to do the necessary hyperbody skills to boost the priest's health points and moves quickly forwards, knowing that Holt will never easily catch up to him. He'll do it later. Alex looks up at the sky, pleased to see a full moon peeking out behind the hideous red clouds of El Nath. This means a werewolf night for both of them, and maybe something shiny would drop if they are lucky.
The rough howls of werewolves sounds almost musical to his ears as he grins and rubs his gloved hands in anticipation. The sound of Holt shouting at him through his communicator doesn't deter him as he raises his Omega spear in battle, slamming it down on an unsuspecting white werewolf's head.
"Wait for me, you bloody idiot!"
"What the hell are you doing? You can't run off and attack!"
"Campbell?"
"Campbell? Talk to me, Campbell."
"..."
"...Shit, Alex, I'm almost there."
Alex Campbell lies on the soft snow, his fresh blood tainting the pristine ice around him. It's excruciating for him to breathe, and it hurts even more because he knows it's his own bloody fault. He tries to open his mouth to warn Holt that there's a swarm of werewolves, which was how he got into the damn situation, but only a gurgle of blood comes bursting from his lips, dripping onto his armour. A second werewolf's swipe sent him flying to this corner behind a jutting out mountain rock, but he knows it's only a matter of time before the werewolf smells him out.
He knows the two werewolves would be defeated quickly and efficiently if Holt had been with him.
"Where are you, Campbell?"
Holt and the werewolf see him at the same time, but Holt is faster, teleporting straight down from the wooden ledge straight to Campbell's side, but Holt knows that there's no time to heal because the werewolf is coming just too damn fast, so he does the only thing possible:
He steps in between Campbell and the werewolf, just as the deadly claws swipe down to strike a death blow meant for the dragon knight.
"Holt!"